Byzantine
by flarecore
Summary: As the great Roman Empire crumbles to end, a new empire arises from the ashes of the fallen nation. Byzantine, the daughter of the old Roman Empire, now controls the land of the East whilst invasions batter the West. Dawning with the age of Emperor Justinian, this new empire faces the horror and tragedy of war that she was born from. Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia


Mocha curls draped eerily over the soot-slicked face of a tall man, shadowing his eyes from the sights of the broken city before him. A cold, twisted feeling coiled through his veins and settled a deep sorrow within his heart. Twisted metal and charred wood encased him in a painful grip, holding tight to his skin and muscle. Around him he heard the screams of terror rising from his city, the sickening thuds of body collected into a tangled heap, and the roaring of flames that seeped through the very heart of this stone and wood city. Tears entwined with blood and cinders, falling breathlessly onto the cracked pavement. His fingers grasping at the metal the burdened his shoulders and legs, screaming as he listened to the sound of his city dying.

He cried for them, whether they be of pure Roman or of foreign descent. He cried for their homes, their land, their fear. He cried for their children and for their sorrows. He cried for their blood, which was spilt amongst the blood of others. The life force of those mercilessly slaughtered for the sake of an empire to crumble. The sound of a city crumbling was drowned by the piercing howls of those men, those wretched men, tossing his people into the Tiber.

It was all too much for the man to endure. His teeth gnashed as he fought against the forsaken rubble for his freedom, curling his body then forcing it in the opposite direction. A sharp _snap_ seemingly echoed throughout the man's head as pain split through the upper portion of his leg. His right hip twisted into a seething knot as he bellowed out in agony. It seemed as though the flames ravaging the nearly-deceased city crawled its way into the core of his bone, blood rushing to the aid of his wound. He shrieked for help, nails tearing that the soot-dusted pavement; salted droplets streaming uncontrollably down his face.

Suddenly, the pressure applied by the shrapnel ceased in its torment, only to be replaced the enflaming thrust of a boot. Another cry of despair left the man's lips, dribbles of scarlet blood seeping from his clattering teeth. The man lifted his eyes to meet the cold, icy glare of a son of Germania. His pale skin stained golden and black amidst the chaos and ruin, his ashen hair splayed across his blood-soaked face. Metal and leather was strapped down the man's body, which was displayed with various slashed- proved ineffective by the absence of blood. A coiled grin lay etched upon the soldier's face, frosted lips split from the crackling inferno.

"Rome," The pained man growled as the soldier spoke his name, baring his teeth.

"How did you pass through the walls?"

The son of Germania grinned at the cracked utterance of the once-great empire. "Your slaves seemed all too eager for us to enter." The German lifted his gaze toward the Temple of Apollo, "We set fire only to the unimportant. We still wish to fully conquer this land at some time, but not for now." He turned back to Rome, eyes coveted with hate, "Our first goal is to bring the Roman Empire to a final fall, my siblings and I. We shall anew the age of the Gothic tribes, and our father will at last be given all he deserves." Rome felt pain lash out against his back, a thick, blazing liquid spilling out against his skin. "Where is your armor now, Warrior of the West?" Another searing blow of leather buried itself into Rome's back, eliciting a wail of terror and anguish.

"I will not harm your buildings further, no."

The soldier cackled as he drew his whip forth once more, scraping it against the heel of his foot. He brought it down upon Rome's back for a third time; blood spattering amongst the cinder and rubble of the formerly glorious city of Rome.

"I will cause you pain, Rome. I will torture you until you cry for the mercy of your so-called 'God'!"

 _Lash._

"I will not stop, not even if the day is done!"

 _Lash._

 _Splutter._

"Not until you hear the cries of your people, even long after I am gone!"

 _Lash._

 _Thwip._

 _Splutter._

"I will not stop, not until the day your precious empire crumbles before you. Both sides, West and East will shatter. Nothing will be left of your legacy but the temples and ashes of your prized land!"

 _Lash._

 _Splutter._

 _Scream._

"And until that day, you will fear me! You will tremble at the name of Visigoth! Quake when I allow you into Death's sight! You will never know peace until you are gone, and I will make you feel pain in the name of Germania!"

Rome let out a cry of tortured agony. Scarlet stained back and legs, seeping through the slices of his robes. He was overwhelmed by the pure misery of his circumstance, unable to process the stream of cries that left his lips. But none of those contained words of surrender or demolishment, not even as the soldier pulled away from his tattered form, kicking him to the side as he and his people left the torn city. The reek of flesh burning and women screaming was a continuous succession, the howls of the damned dimmed as Rome's mind focused on each breath leaving his body.

He wouldn't die, oh no, he would never be granted the luxury of death. He could only lie there, in his pool of blood, only to stare at the sky until the clouds turned violet. Oh, how he wished he could die. To escape this miserable life and to forget about the rattling breaths that left his lungs in pained endeavors. But, only darkness awaited him as he closed his eyes. Only darkness, and the sound of his people's woe. A tear escaped from the closing corner of his eye as he felt the numbness take over his weakened form. The color in his vision slowly began to corrode into in inky blackness, swallowing him whole into the realm of sleep.


End file.
